


Two Days

by FinalSolution



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Disputes, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:06:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FinalSolution/pseuds/FinalSolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a difficult man to share a flat with.  It's a wonder John hasn't taken to shooting the walls himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Days

**Author's Note:**

> Another bit written for Let's Write Sherlock, challenge 3. (Look, this one is cute! That's definitely a change.) A shorty inspired by Barenaked Ladies, "One Week."

Tuesday

“You’re angry.” It hadn’t come out as a question, but as a casual observation, as though he were stating that the grass was green or that it was raining outside.

John huffed out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yes. Yeah, I’m angry. You’re getting _really_ good at that.”

“I don’t see why.”

“Because you can’t just – for God’s sake, Sherlock, it was dangerous!”

Sherlock dragged his cool gaze up to meet John’s eyes. “No more than you crossing the street to get to the Tesco.” 

“Did you just – no, no, you didn’t.”

“I did. And I’m right.”

“You’re –“ John’s words failed him for a moment, a look of frustration masking his face before he finally threw his hands up (overdramatically, Sherlock thought). “You’re crazy, that’s what you are.”

Sherlock placed his fingertips together and rested his hands before him, hardly trying to supress the grin spreading behind them.

  
\----

Thursday

“Pompous.”

“Been looking in a mirror again, have you?”

“I meant Ms Sutherland.”

A sigh from behind him in the sitting room. Sherlock turned from the beakers on the kitchen table that he had been watching carefully. “Is there something you’re terribly in need to say, John?”

“Why bother? You don’t listen anyway.”

“Maybe if you didn’t try while I was clearly occupied –“

“So I have to schedule myself in around your bloody experiments?”

“I don’t –“

“Don’t. If you finish that sentence, I _swear to God_ I will punch you, Sherlock.”

“-think it’s too much to ask-“

It wasn’t a fist in the end, but the hardcover had certainly left a dent in Sherlock’s skull and a rather lasting impression.

\----

Saturday

“Jesus!”

“You’re home early.”

“Why in _hell_ is there – No, never mind. Just clean it up.”

“Well it isn’t like it’s _real_ blood. You should know the difference.”

“I still don’t like our flat looking like a goddamn crime scene.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“ _You_ ,” and John stabbed a finger in Sherlock’s face, “are a selfish prick.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure what the fuss was about – he had put plastic down on everything to keep from having a mess actually stain the carpet and furniture. His eyes lingered where John disappeared into his bedroom. His jaw worked into a slight scowl. 

Maybe John was right to be upset. Just a bit.

  
\----

Wednesday

“I don’t know how I put up with you.” The words floated to Sherlock’s ears, and he simply hummed in response. He was curled into a tight ball on the couch with his back facing the room, having chosen several hours ago to give John a bit of his own cold shoulder treatment to see how he liked it.

Let it never be said that Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t rise – or stoop – to another’s level in an argument.

He heard a soft thud on the coffee table behind him and awkwardly twisted his neck around to see what had caused it. A fresh cup of tea sat waiting for him, giving off an inviting aroma. His eyes rolled up lazily to look at John. 

Loose posture. Softened eyes. An almost unnoticable quirk of the mouth that anyone else likely _would_ have missed.

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth curled up into a half-smirk. “Thank you.”

“Pardon?”

“You have obviously” – the word, always sounding like a biting insult coming from him, was given an extra drawl – “forgiven me for my behavior of the past week, or you wouldn’t be making me tea.”

John made a motion to protest, gave up before he even began, and settled for a breathy laugh and a shake of his head before occupying his usual chair, pulling his laptop with him.

Sherlock knew it would still be another two days before either of them actually said he was sorry.


End file.
